Page 45 of The Hookup Experiment

He assumed he knew all there was to know about me.

He said he loved me, but he didn't. He couldn't.

He barely knew me.

He thought I loved the ocean for all the usual reasons—the surf, the sand, the chance to frolic in a bikini.

And, yes, I love the surf, I love the sand, I look great in a bikini.

But that's only part of the appeal.

The Kate Chopin of it all—

He never got that.

Maybe men just can't. Maybe men can't understand what it means to be a woman in the world, even one without a husband or children.

The expectations are still there.

They're still heavy.

And the promise of freedom—

It's enticing.

I'm sure there are things I didn't understand about him, things I don't understand about being a man.

But I never pretended.

I hid.

That's different.

And now, I'm here, trying to dive back into my body, worried I won't do it right.

Because I might fall for this guy.

Because I might screw him up.

Because, maybe, I want to screw him up.

And, maybe, just maybe, I'm a bad role model, again. Maybe the people I love are the same as me—

Weighed down by my expectations for them.

Hiding behind them.

Hiding the places they hurt.

I want to be brave, to lead by example.

But I'm not even brave enough to ask. To look. To see.

And that's the thing—

My ex was right.

I want everything this guy has to offer. For my body, anyway. If I risk my heart, I risk it.